Redoing Artemis Entreri
by AnnaDruvez
Summary: Artemis didn't expect to live as long as he did. He didn't expect the Zhentarim to nearly wipe out every living humanoid with a plague they created. He certainly didn't expect the God of Death to demand that he fix the problem! How the heck was he supposed to do that? Some hints would have been nice! Rated for Language.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This will probably never be finished. Just saying. It's been languishing on my hard drive for a year or so, and I just wanted to toss it out there. Anyone else that wants to take it up and work with it is quite welcome to do so.

Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Entreri. Though, it would be nice.

* * *

Artemis Entreri was less than pleased. In times gone by, his displeasure would have been evidenced by the death of the person that caused the feeling. There wasn't much point to killing the person in question, or even trying, this time. After all, killing a God in his own realm was a little on the ambitious side – even for him. "You're serious? You want me to return to life? Isn't that.. a little counter-productive for you?"

Kelemvor just nodded his head. "It is, nonetheless, important that you do so. The latest... issue... that has evolved has its roots in a problem that was created by your actions."

Artemis eyed him. "And, how exactly did I cause this? I'm not the one that developed this plague."

The God of Death nodded. "That is true. However, you caused enough of a distraction that the perpetrators were able to pass by unseen as they gathered the needed materials."

The assassin racked his brain, trying to remember having met _any_ of the people in question. He came up blank. "When? I didn't exactly meet many Zhentarim when I was alive. And, I never met _those_ particular fools."

Kelemvor gave a resigned sigh. "Are you saying that you'll turn down the chance to live your life for a second time, a chance to correct previous mistakes, just because you don't believe me when I say that it's a matter of saving the world? You truly are a perverse son of a bitch."

He couldn't help it, he gaped. Not much, just a little. Not many people get directly told by a God that they were perverse. Or a son of a bitch, for that matter. He could have pictured any – or all – of them telling Jarlaxle that. The drow had thumbed his nose at an entire city full of his own people. Usually, in Artemis' opinion, just for laughs. But, Artemis had thought himself fairly reasonable.

He couldn't help the resigned anger in his voice. "What would you have me do?"

Kelemvor smiled. "You're going to go back to a previous time. In your old body, you will remember everything that you now know. You'll have a few bonuses, as well. Your favored weapons, for instance, and your more... unusual traits. You will just have to act upon those events with what you know now."

He blinked at the deity. This was incontrovertible proof: the Gods were all insane. "You want me to go back and be myself? That's it?" He demanded, "And what about the 'me' of then?"

Kelemvor shrugged and ignored the first questions. "It's all the same soul. The two of you are one. Where you exist, the younger soul will merge and join with you. It will be a bit uncomfortable, but I imagine that you'll get past it readily enough." The deity paused as if just remembering something. "Oh, and you might want to forge some alliances with the heroes in the area. You might need them."

"What are - " He didn't get to finish the sentence. The world went gray, then multicolored, then he was falling through an undefined shadowed portal. Then there were more colors, it felt like someone had ripped him to shreds and put him back together with cello-tape and gum. His head was splitting, his stomach was heaving and he was collapsing to cold – nearly frozen – ground.

He was too out of it to even realize that the warm moisture his left arm was nestled in was the regurgitated remains of his own lunch.

* * *

Later, Artemis woke to a cold wind and a near-frozen arm. He listened carefully, but heard no one else nearby. He sat up as quickly as his headache would allow and examined the substance on his icy sleeve. He grimaced in disgust. _Lovely_.

He glanced around. Icewind Dale. Why in the Nine Hells was he in Icewind Dale? A quick inventory of his pack and the clothes he wore answered that question. He was here to chase down Regis – that damned halfling. Was this the first of the choices that he was going to change?

Wait... The 'heroes of the region'? He groaned. _No. Please no. Not them._

He stood, then blinked as he felt something against his chest. He pulled on the chain around his neck and found it. A symbol of Kelemvor. The man hadn't even become a god, yet, and he was wearing his symbol? He shook his head. Next the self-righteous bastard would be expecting him to observe his holy days and proselytize his ways to the masses.

He shuffled through his pack and found a clean shirt to change into. _This just keeps getting worse. _

He readjusted his sword belt, noting the presence of his dagger. The saber he had used in this era was replaced with the sword he'd been accustomed to when he'd died – a thankfully non-sentient blade. He gathered his things, then headed into Ten Towns. If they were still there, he might be able to catch the thief before they left. After all, this time he didn't have to ask his whereabouts. If they weren't there... well, he had the decided advantage of knowing where they were going.

He ignored the chuckle he could _feel_ coming from the soon-to-be deity.

* * *

Regis, the sneaky little halfling that he was, had persuaded Cassius to provide him a house. Not just any house, of course, but the very house that Cassius had built for himself. Artemis had no doubt that Regis would have failed in his persuasions if it weren't for the hypnotic ruby the thief had stolen from Pasha Pook back in Calimport.

Ostensibly... originally... that was why Entreri had trudged all the way up the Sword Coast. His mission had been to return both halfling and gem to their mutual employer. (Though, Pook would have Regis dead and, therefore, a former employee shortly thereafter.) It was not the most prestigious of jobs, and he'd long been convinced that Pook had only sent him as a show of just how well-controlled his pet assassin was.

Before he'd lived the extra time granted to him by his absorption of the shade, he would have simply obeyed. After all, not returning would only see others sent to retrieve him in addition to the pint-sized pest. He was now well-aware that there were more frightening things than a dozen ruffians yanked out of a gutter and trained to kill. Pissing off the combined might of the extended Clan Battlehammer didn't rate highly on the list, but it was still an annoyance he could do without.

So, he walked calmly up to the door – ignoring that it was well past the hour for civilized house calls – and rapped sharply. It didn't take long for him to hear noises from within. Nor did it take long for the door to open. "I'm sorry, but it's terribly late. Could you come back – _urk!"_

Regis was cut off as Artemis grabbed the back of his shirt, turned him and propelled him back into his foyer. A twitch of a booted foot had the door closing behind him after he stepped through. He let go of the thief once his entry was assured and casually leaned against a wall. "Hello, thief."

The halfling backed away in terror. "E-entreri..."

Artemis let the annoying pest babble for a few extra minutes while he analyzed his own response to the situation. He'd thought himself beyond enjoying the terror he used to evoke in others. Apparently, he was wrong. Still, the whimpering did get annoying. "One more noise out of you, and I'll have your tongue for a tassel.*"

With the way Regis' mouth clicked shut, Artemis was a bit amazed that he didn't bite the offending organ off. Jarlaxle would have laughed and deflected the threat into some other game. He gave a small frown, ignoring how the halfling lost a few more shades of color at the sight of his expression. He didn't miss the flamboyant drow, dammit!

He noticed a rattling and rolled his eyes when he saw the halfling was quaking hard enough to shake the contents of the side table he was pressed against. "Will you stop that? It's pathetic."

"A-are you g-going to k-kill me? Or t-take m-me back to P-pook?"

The assassin had to give Regis credit for actually managing semi-effective sentences through all the shaking. "I wasn't planning on doing either."

His lips twitched. He was fairly certain that he could knock the would-be hero over with a feather. Not that he wasn't normally easy to defeat, but the expression on his face was...was...

Regis' legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor in terror at the sight of the most feared assassin in the Calim desert laughing.

Finally, he managed to compose himself. One look at the terrified halfling nearly set him off again. He reached out and pulled him to his feet. "Get up. Grow a spine." Artemis shoved him towards a seat. "If you must sit, that's a better spot than the floor."

Regis pulled himself into a chair and swallowed. Hard. "W-why are you h-here?"

Artemis tossed his hat onto a couch and settled next to it. "Pook wants me to drag you back. Or kill you. He wasn't terribly particular on the topic, though alive was mostly preferred." He ignored the squeak from the coward in front of him. "I, on the other hand, have no desire to return to Calimport."

He flashed Regis a smirk, enjoying just how much being friendly was unnerving his 'host.' "If you decide to go back, feel free to tell them I pointed you in the right direction."

"Y-you're leaving the g-guild?"

"Mm-hmm." Artemis picked up a random piece of clutter – a scrimshaw carving – off the nearest table to examine. "They seem to be of the opinion that I'm going to continue as an assassin. Since our opinions on the topic differ, it seems best to part ways."

He contained the mental shock, having realized that he was channeling Jarlaxle's mannerisms. It was an interesting way to put his opponent off his game. And, it did seem to be working. The halfling was actually starting to calm down a bit. "I don't suppose you have a spare room for an old business associate? I understand that Ten Towns is supposed to be a good place to start over and – perhaps – pick up a bit of adventure."

Regis blinked. Artemis could almost see him re-writing his schedule in order to get as far away as possible. "I... was planning on taking a trip with some friends, but I suppose you could use the house...?"

"Do you think they'll need another sword along?" Artemis waved a hand. "Never mind. I'll just tag along with you and make the offer myself."

He could actually _hear_ the halfling's gulp.

* * *

The next morning, he allowed himself to be led to Regis' friends. He spotted the barbarian first, Wulfgar was just as much of a mountain of a human as he'd remembered. Drizzt Do'Urden, drow ranger, was almost casually standing nearby. His arms were crossed in a way that Entreri knew meant that he was ready to draw his scimitars. The dwarf, with his dented helm and axe, was too busy expressing shock that Regis had decided to come along.

An expressed sentiment that had the halfling eying Artemis nervously. The smile he sent in return was supposed to be reassuring. It apparently wasn't, as he started fidgeting. The others noticed.

The dwarf narrowed his eyes. "An who're ye?"

Artemis quirked an eyebrow. "Artemis Entreri. Former assassin of Pasha Pook's Thieves' Guild in Calimport. Currently, I'm considering myself more of a bounty hunter and sword for hire."

It was, he readily admitted, not the best way to introduce himself. How many introduced themselves as an assassin? Much less to a bunch of 'heroes'? He could have stopped the advance of the scimitar, but he knew the way the drow's mind worked. He hadn't bared a blade, so he wasn't going to die. He simply smirked. "I already shaved this morning, but thank you for the offer."

Amazingly, it was Regis that spoke up. "Drizzt... It's all right. I... I think he really _is_ trying to change his ways."

Artemis met the dark elf's gaze. Some part of him still hated him. The rest of him... How long had it been since he'd met someone that could challenge him?_ How long since I realized that I actually missed the son of a spider-kissing bitch? Three hundred years? Five? _"If you're not going to use it, then put it away. You could poke someone's eye out."

* * *

*Threat stolen from the delightful works of Ariel D on FFN. It's a good threat. I couldn't resist.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter One should have the disclaimer. Unless I forgot. If I did, don't own. Want to, but don't._

_The spelling for "Hosttower of the Arcane" is taken directly from Bob Salvatore's books. I know that the campaign setting had/has "Host Tower of the Arcane." Deal with it._

* * *

**Two**

Whatever the true motivations behind Regis vouching for him, his words did at least seem to calm his allies. Not, perhaps, as much as could be hoped. Still, they were more placid than could have been expected in the presence of a self-described assassin.

The first night they were camped, Artemis watched the others carefully. He'd never seen them quite like this. There was, of course, the lingering tension caused by his presence. Still, there was also an oddly relaxed air of anticipation. This was not the group he had battled again and again, world weary as they had slowly become.

Do'Urden's eyes sparkled with life. There was some resignation at how he would be treated once they were beyond the borders of the Dale. However, he seemed to look forward to the adventure with his friends. His smile as he teased the halfling was laced with an easy affection. When he tweaked the Barbarian, he was overflowing with mischief. His interaction with the Dwarf gave cause to wonder if there was imp somewhere in his ancestry.

An actual possibility, given the oddities of what Menzoberranzan considered 'normal' interaction with demonic races.

The others were also more open, more playful, than Artemis had ever seen them. Wulfgar had the air of a boy, for all his overwhelming size. Regis seemed to have lost much of the reserve that the assassin's presence had inspired, and was busily teasing Bruenor. For his part, the would-be king was threatening to put the gluttonous halfling on a diet.

That was what he was looking for, he realized. Wulfgar hadn't been hardened by his experiences in the Abyss. Bruenor hadn't had to deal with invasions of orcs and all manner of other creatures as he fought for his throne and his people. Regis still had all of his fingers. (The removal of which was an act that Artemis was studiously refusing to admit was more a matter of sadism on his part than actual necessity.) Drizzt hadn't seen his friends die – multiple times in some cases. They were young, without the weight of regret that had settled on shoulders made too fragile by their inherent mortality.

"An' what d'ye think o' our quest, assassin?"

Entreri looked up at the Dwarf's question. "As I have no idea where we're going? I rather think that I hope I packed enough provisions." He eyed Regis. "Particularly if our light-fingered ally gets anywhere near my pack."

Bruenor snorted. "Aye, feedin' him needs a fortune an a half. I'd have thought that he'd have told ye where we be goin'."

"Only that there was a quest and fortune to be had."

"Hmph. Do ye go into all yer jobs with so much knowin'?"

Artemis let the smirk bloom on his face and his humor to show in his eyes, ignoring the breath the halfling sucked in. "Sometimes less, sometimes more. Usually the client tells me less than I should know and the victim more than I ever wanted to."

He sipped his tea, enjoying the surprised stares. Regis, having known him longer than the others, was most surprised of course. Artemis knew that – at this point in his life – ignoring insults and showing emotion had been something for the weak. It had only taken him a hundred and fifty years or so to fully and completely realize that that wasn't the case. He knew that there was more than one rumor that he was actually a well-made golem enchanted by some (probably dead) wizard.

He looked at the halfling and let one eyebrow slowly rise. The cowardly thief quickly started doing anything else he could think of. He turned back to the... Bruenor, he reminded himself. He needed to call them by name. Not by titles. "So, what am I to be told?"

Bruenor blinked, frowned and then nodded to himself. "We're lookin' fer Mithril Hall. It's me kin's home, lost to us for o'er a century now."

Artemis nodded. "All right then. What took the Hall? What are we likely to face?"

"We don' know. For all tha' I was there, I was a young'un." He shifted in his seat. "We'll have to be figurin' that out when we find it."

Artemis resisted the urge to drop his face into his hands. Of course. He should have been more aware of this. The reason for their erratic and odd traveling pattern when he'd been chasing them down was that they had no idea where they were going. Wonderful.

He could tell them but... He shook his head. _Oh, by the way, I know exactly where it is and fifteen separate ways to get inside. We can have the place back in the next tenday, if you want. Less, if you don't mind me poisoning the water supply._ Yeah. That would go over well.

He couldn't tell them. He'd have to be careful not to let slip any of a dozen pieces of information... Not unless he could come up with a damned good reason for why he knew what he knew. He had the feeling that this was not going to be a pleasant trip.

He settled into his blankets for the night and cursed meddling deities. Again.

* * *

The trip to Luskan was fairly quiet. Though, he did have to quietly scoff on realizing that Bruenor had come all this way without stopping to get a map first. As they stood looking at the town, he glanced at Wulfgar. "It's a different world than you're used to."

"What?" The boy's eyes were full of confusion.

"Life in a city." He nodded his head towards Luskan. "In a place like this, there are dangers far different than in the Dale. There will be men here that will have no compunction, no remorse over slicing your throat for a few coppers to buy a whore. They won't look at you and see someone that protects a town, or serves a needed purpose for your people. They'll look at you and see someone to take advantage of and betray if it suits their ends."

"Cynical words." Drizzt's voice floated towards them, drawing his attention from the barbarian's flushed face.

"Perhaps." His own gray eyes met lavender. "But we both know that they are accurate, amongst the privileged even more than among the poor."

Wulfgar looked to Drizzt in question and the drow reluctantly nodded. "He isn't lying. It's not quite as bad as he states. But..."

Artemis sighed. "I sometimes think that there is a certain percentage of the population that must be evil. The numbers in the cities simply mean that it is more concentrated and corrupts others more readily."

He continued to stare at the city, feeling the drow's eyes on him, until it was time to head for the gate.

* * *

Luskan was just as obnoxiously depressing as Artemis remembered. The poor grovelled in the streets, the city watch was corrupt, and the Hosttower of the Arcane looked down on it all with a smug self-satisfaction that annoyed him greatly. Mostly, though, he concerned himself with keeping the Barbarian from gaping like a yokel and giving the fairly accurate impression of gullibility. The boy would easily get them killed at the rate he was going.

Dendybar, Entreri knew, was probably already apprised of their presence within his city. The mage was no doubt already spinning plots on how to capture and interrogate them. Of course, the last thing they really needed was to have that happen. He and the drow would escape fairly easily, he knew. The others would be a pain to break out of confinement. He really didn't want to have to bother with it.

Still, he didn't argue as they made their way to The Cutlass. The inn was the site of Wulfgar's first real bar brawl in the previous time line, and Entreri couldn't help but admit to himself that he wanted to see what the Barbarian was capable of at the moment. He would have offered to spar in order to test the boy's skills, but he was willing to be that they'd be suspicious of his motives. He already couldn't breathe without feeling at least two pairs of eyes on him, there was no need to add to the suspicion.

After some debate, and more than a few warnings from the dwarf, he managed to get left behind with both the halfling and Wulfgar while the other two went off to terrorize poor Whisper. Artemis reclined in the chair at their table and fought down the memories of killing the human. She'd died purely because his own pride would not allow her to live with the impression that she'd gotten the better of him. He'd slipped a knife through her ribs and deliberately twisted her own words upon her.

_Gods, I was such an arrogant little shit._

Needing to move, he stood and approached the bar. As he ordered more ale, he watched the whore attempt to court Wulfgar. He saw Regis entice her away. He came back to the table with the three tankards – no doubt the boy would drink the halfling's – and set them on the table before carelessly tossing himself in the chair. "I wouldn't feel too jealous, were I you. Her kind are easily found and more easily bought."

"Pardon?"

He could see the question in the young man's face. The boy was wondering if he could read his thoughts. It was amusing, and he allowed himself that small twitch of the lips. "More than half the women in the room are for sale, if you really want one. I'd not suggest it, though. Most of them will carry diseases that will make your immediate future unpleasant and possibly prove fatal in the long run. It's far better to court one that won't make parts of you rot off."

"Oh." The Barbarian looked repulsed now. "But..."

"The risks the halfling takes in his lust are not yours to choose. Only the risks that you are willing to take are under your control."He sipped his ale and watched the boy ponder his statements for a few minutes before they finally seemed to sink in. Who knew? Maybe he could even end the bar fight before it got started?... No, he'd rather see it.

It started more quickly than he expected, were he honest. A fat male started making comments to Regis as he headed for the stairs with his prostitute. The Barbarian's eyes glazed with rage and shortly ale, cutlery and people were flying around. Artemis, safely ensconced in a corner, watched the growing chaos with something akin to satisfaction. It rather reminded him of happier times with Jarlaxle.

He forced himself to frown, suppressing the smile that wanted to overtake him. _I don't miss him, dammit!_

He eyed the crowd, noting the halfling hiding under a table and sipping at ale. Across the room, one of the city watch – Jierdan? Maybe? - was observing the scene with more interest and less of a mind towards stopping it than he should be. Definitely spying on them, then. He absently kicked a fighter that came too close, sending him back into the fray and into the pathway of a flying chair.

The boy was holding his own, though he favored brute force too much. For his size, he was remarkably quick and would probably fare better were he to use it to his advantage. It also might help if he succumbed less to his battle rage. His willful blindness led him to take a few hits that he should have been able to easily dodge.

He'd be a formidable opponent with the right training. From the tactics that were instinctively used, he could tell that Drizzt had tried to teach him better. Wulfgar had probably dismissed it as elven trickery, though. Perhaps he and the drow combined could beat it into his thick head? Perhaps.

Finally, the fight ended. The three of them were sitting on the street when the other two appeared beside them. From what he could tell, it was obvious that they had also found combat. Probably from their dealings with Whisper, if he remembered correctly.

He listened to Regis filling them in on the battle and kept his thoughts to himself. He would speak to Drizzt about training the boy after they left the city.

* * *

_Okay, in addition to everything else I'm dealing with... The ceiling in my bedroom just fell in. Well, part of it. The part that was about two or three feet from my head while I was sleeping. None of it actually hit me. However, it was close enough that I am now wide awake and unlikely to be able to sleep again before noon._

_On the bright side, no insulation fell in spite of it being the ceiling under my attic. On the down side, it's plaster and lath. I am not mucking around with the plaster needed to repair a good three by four hole, even though the lath does appear to still be sound. This is the... second? time in two years that the ceiling in this bedroom has fallen in. (No, not a water leak, just age and a different section of the ceiling. 90 year old plaster does that.) So... I need to pull down all the loose plaster, find the actual studs under the lath, shim the areas not currently covered in plaster with furring strips, and then install new drywall to cover._

_I suppose I could drop the ceiling by about six inches and put in a tile ceiling. There are some beautiful pseudo-pressed tin tiles available on the market. And it would fit with the age of the house. But, I like my high ceilings and have no desire to lower them. Maybe I'll get some of the tiles and install them to the drywall instead once it's up._

_I'm going to see if I can scrounge up the money to install a ceiling fan. We have no AC, so it would help keep us cool in the summer. I'm going to have my hands full hanging drywall and the wiring is very old. So... I'd probably want to hire an electrician to put in the fan. I could do it myself, but I it's better for my insurance (and peace of mind, where the wiring is concerned) if I don't. So, that's an added expense on top of the fan itself._

_We'll see if I can do it._

_In the meantime, because I was full of nervous energy and unable to sleep, you get this lovely chapter of a story I had no intention of continuing. I don't know why. For some reason, it's what I wanted to write when I sat down. And, no, this hasn't gone through my usual three re-reads and grammar edit._


End file.
